Late in the winter came one day
When there was a whiff on the wind,
a suspicion, a cry not to be heard
of perhaps blossoms, perhaps green
grass and clean hills lifting rolling
Does the nose get the cry of spring
first of all? is the nose thankful
and thrilled first of all?
If the blossoms come down
so they must fall on snow
because spring comes this year
before winter is gone,
then both snow and blossoms look sad:
peaches, cherries, the red summer apples,
all say it is a hard year.
The wind has its own way of picking off
the smell of peach blossoms and then
carrying that smell miles and miles.
Women washing dishes in lonely farmhouses
stand at the door and say, “Something is
A little foam of the summer sea
a foam finger of white leaves,
shut these away—
high into the summer wind runners.
Let the wind be white too.